"The trouble with me is I cant decide what I want most, so my motion is circular, helpless and confoundedly discouraging."
"Oh but God decided that for you. You know all the time, but you wont admit it to yourself."
"I imagine what I want most is to get out of this town, preferably first setting off a bomb under the Times Building."
"Well why don't you do it? It's just one foot after another."
"But you have to know which direction to step."
"That's the last thing that's of any importance."
"Then there's money."
"Why money's the easiest thing in the world to get."
"For the eldest son of Emery and Emery."
"Now Herf it's not fair to cast my father's iniquities in my face. You know I hate that stuff as much as you do."
"I'm not blaming you Stan; you're a damn lucky kid, that's all. Of course I'm lucky too, a hell of a lot luckier than most. My mother's leftover money supported me until I was twentytwo and I still have a few hundreds stowed away for that famous rainy day, and my uncle, curse his soul, gets me new jobs when I get fired."
"Baa baa black sheep."
"I guess I'm really afraid of my uncles and aunts. . . . You ought to see my cousin James Merivale. Has done everything he was told all his life and flourished like a green bay tree. . . . The perfect wise virgin."
"Ah guess youse one o dem dere foolish virgins."
"Stan you're feeling your liquor, you're beginning to talk niggertalk."
"Baa baa." Stan put down his napkin and leaned back laughing in his throat.
The smell of absinthe sicklytingling grew up like the magician's rosebush out of Jimmy's glass. He sipped it wrinkling his nose. "As a moralist I protest," he said. "Whee it's amazing."
"What I need is a whiskey and soda to settle those cocktails."
